He
recognized a man known as
Kiichi Sugimoto standing at the gate, a surprise which caused Mr.
Nakano's
heart to pound.This
man Sugimoto did
not look at Mr. Nakano; instead, he walked off.Mr.
Nakano's chest tightened as he followed the short man to the
baggage claim area.There,
the man
angled himself away from Nakano, as though unacquainted.

Mr.
Nakano
took slow deep
breaths to settle himself.When
he
wheeled his two bags to the street, Sugimoto followed.A black limo pulled up.

The
chauffeur opened the trunk
and reached for Mr. Nakano's bags.

“No,”
Mr.
Nakano said.“I'm
not going for this ride.”The
driver closed the trunk.

Mr.
Nakano
grabbed Sugimoto's
lapels and in a hushed voice said,“What are you doing here? Why did he send someone like
you?”

Sugimoto
glared.He removed
Mr. Nakano's grip on
his coat. “I
have been promoted.Something
you will
never get.”

Mr.
Nakano
purchased a “Green
Car” ticket, expensive, but with more privacy for the two hour journey.Aboard the train, he
rested his perpetually
sore knee.Free of
the despicable
Kiichi Sugimoto, he calmed himself, confident he'd safely get to
Misako's
hospital room.That
he was forced to
stand next to that man in an open public area at the airport was yet
another
insult from his superior, his oyabun, Nishimoto.

He
stepped
off the Narita
Express at Shinjuku, changed to the JR Soubu Line and rode that to
Shinanomachi, in the center of Tokyo.

He
wheeled
his luggage north
along the sidewalks, and in the near distance Keio University Hospital
rose
before him in hanging gray light, reminding somehow of the cold stones
in his
neighborhood burial ground.

Mr.
Nakano
approached the
information desk.

“I
am
Misako's husband!” Mr.
Nakano blurted out to the young lady.He gasped for breath, which surprised him, for he'd
neither run
nor
walked that fast.

She
examined his ID.“Would
you like some
water, some tea?You
do not look well at
all.Sit down over
there, catch your
breath,” she
said, firmly.

“No
no. I
am fine!I just
need to see my wife.Her
name is Misako Nakano.My wife.”

“Just
calm
down.Sit over
there, please.You are very very pale, sir.Please,
sit down.”

Reluctantly,
he obeyed.The
chest pains again.And
the shortness of breath.He concentrated on the calm things he
enjoyed when traveling aboard the Tustumena in
Alaska, the
following seas,
the birds he photographed, his sketches.He did not drink the tea, but closed his eyes and forced
himself
to
imagine he was taking a nap, seeking some way, any way at all, to ease
his
oft-occurring discomfort.This
did
indeed work for him, to a degree.He
jerked his head up suddenly.He
must
see her.With
difficulty he rose from
the seat and approached the information desk again, forgetting about
the
luggage.

“I
am
tired from a long trip,”
he said, forcing a polite smile.“May
I
see her?”

“She
is in
room 412,” the lady
said.“Take that
elevator over
there.Are you sure
you are OK?”

He
stepped
into her room, a
private one, very expensive.When
his
eyes adjusted, he discerned his wife lying on her side in a fetal
position.

“I
already
told you on the
phone.Two days,”
she said, her voice
coming up.“I must
finish them
all.But the pain
is worse this time.”

“Is
he
going to operate?”

“He
will
be here soon.He'll
tell you.”

“He
is the
best one, you know
that.An American
trained in
Chicago.You will
always have the
best.”

“This
will
cost a great deal of
money.The
financial assistant came
here yesterday asking how we are to pay for all of this.I said you would get insurance or assistance
from Nishimoto.”

“Do
not
think of that.I
will arrange everything,
I promise.”

“I
do not
understand why your
boss would not provide insurance earlier,” Misako said.“He does for the others, even some who are
not as talented as you.And
why didn't
you just get insurance on your own?Why
be so frugal?Now
we are in
difficulty.”

“Nishimoto
is always cruel,
you've seen him.Calls
me his
subordinate, his kobun, as though I am his dog,
worth nothing.Just
the way he is.”

“Stand
up
to Nishimoto for
once.He pays
medical expenses all the
time for the others.Some
come into
emergency with bullet holes in them and Nishimoto always pays.Why not for me?I
am even related to some of them!What
is
the matter with that man?”

Nakano
sat
down suddenly in the
chair.

“You
look
so tired.All those
trips,” she said.

“Just
the
usual,” he said.“Twenty-three
hours.They seem a
little more difficult now, for
some reason.”

“You
promised you'd get a
check-up.”

“I'll
take
care of
everything.Do not
worry at all.I
will handle this in my own way.”

The
knock
on the door made Mr.
Nakano sit upright.

Dr.
Manakar, tall, a neck like
that of a sand hill crane, moved languidly into the room, his hands
clasped
like a praying mantis.A
yellow stain
on his long front teeth irritated Mr. Nakano, and he looked away.The doctor's Japanese,
heavily accented,
served him well enough.He
shook hands
with Mr. Nakano, a slight bow.

“Well,
Misako, how are we
feeling?”

“She
is
refusing the pain
pills,” Mr. Nakano announced.

“I
don't
like those pills.Makes
the air and light
seem strange to me,”
Misako said.

“Well,
Misako,” Dr. Manakar
said, “You had a high white blood cell count.The antibiotics should completely take care of that in a
few
days.You were
experiencing the chills,
right?”

“Not
so
much now,” Misako said.

“Well
here's what we have.Weight
loss.Abdominal
pain.Rectal
bleeding.And this
has been going on
intermittently for, what, five years?”

“I
tried
to take care of myself
at home with liquid diet.It
usually
goes away.But not
now.The pain is....”

Dr.
Manakar said quickly to Mr.
Nakano, “We examined the CT scan and we looked looked inside.Her sigmoid colon, the
lowest part of her
colon, is the problem.She
has
diverticulitis.”

“I
must, I
repeat, must
do a primary bowel resection.I
shall
remove the diseased part of your intestine and then reconnect the
healthy
segments.Then you
can have normal
bowel movements.I
am a specialist at
this.Laparoscopic
surgery.I have done hundreds of these
procedures.I will
make three for four
small incisions in your abdomen and do what must be done."

“Three
or
four incisions?She
will die!” Mr. Nakano
shouted.

“No,
she
will not die,” Dr
Manakar said.“I
will relieve her
entirely of her pain.And
with
laparoscopic surgery, recovery is much faster, much quicker.”

“I
will
take care of
everything,” Mr. Nakano announced.“No
matter how much it costs.Money
will
not be a problem.”

Dr.
Manakar, said. “I am
well-acquainted with the organization for whom you work.They always take care of their own.Always.”

“How
much
will this cost?” Mr.
Nakano asked.

“Generally,
with hospital stay,
around 4,000,000 yen, little over 40,000 US dollars.Sometimes the bill runs higher, depending on how
everything
goes.The healing
will quicken, Misako,
if you allow us to administer pain relief for a few days while we
ensure your
potassium levels come up to where they should be.”

“I
will
see that she agrees to
this,” Mr. Nakano said.“I
will see she
obeys and behaves as you request.”

Mr.
Nakano
slunk down in the
hospital chair as Dr. Manakar spoke quietly with Misako.He could do no more, except ask one more
question.

“When
will
you operate?” he
asked.“Tomorrow?”

Dr.
Manakar's yellow front teeth
displayed themselves to Mr. Nakano.“Misako will stay here, as I discussed with her, for five
days.That's when
the operation has been
scheduled, assuming the white cell count stays down and everything is
taken
care of.”

“No,
of
course not.If her
infection is completely
gone, her
colon is cleared and ready for the operation, her general health is
still as
good as it appears to be, then we will proceed.The
billing will, of course, come later, and I am sure you have
nothing to worry about.I
have met Mr.
Nishimoto myself on several occasions.He always takes care of his people.Always.”

Mr.
Nakano
slunk into his
chair.Deep in
thought, he did not
listen as Dr. Manakar and Misako continued to quietly talk.Not only did he need money
for the
operation, but also, he must have money to pay for his son's college
education,
for his son planned to enroll as a foreign student at the University of
Alaska,
Anchorage in the Fall.Never,
ever
would his own son follow in his footsteps.

A
cyclone
roared in his brain,
anger that his boss Nishimoto would send a common killer to meet him
out in the
open at the airport.What
was going
on?Mr. Nakano had
controlled his own
most perfect drug route, the Aleutian route, for years.He'd created the operation.Perfect
in every detail.He
never even allowed use
of cell phones and
had himself developed the coded conversations necessary when talking to
Tokyo
from the dockside Alaska pay phones.Perfection.What
was Nishimoto
up to?Why would
his oyabun
think there was a need to review this most perfect of all creations?And why had he promoted
Sugimoto?A common killer!

His
fuming
persisted.To
regain control, he hefted
himself from
the hospital chair, kissed Misako, and returned to his family apartment
and his
son Kano.Sleep was
the answer.Tomorrow
evening, perhaps, he'd meet with
Nishimoto and get the money he deserved.In his mind, his contributions to the organization carried
substantial,
creative, even ingenious value, more than that contributed by the
animals, the
thugs Nishimoto preferred to associate with day in and day out.

Thirty
minutes after greeting
his son, sleep took Mr. Nakano away from his torments.

CHAPTER
TWO

The following night, Mr. Nakano took a local bus,
and got off
in
the middle of the Akasaka district.Rain blew in sheets as he hurried toward the honbu,
or
head
office, of one of the largest yakuza families in Japan.He paused when he finally reached a sign
marking the entrance to a private social club.He checked his watch: 9:50 PM.

Inside, he handed his raincoat and hat to a young
woman.A few men in
pinstripe suits sat around
drinking, smoking, playing cards; a few more huddled together in a
corner
talking.One puffed
his chest out for
an accommodating comfort woman standing invitingly nearby.Nakano knew some of the men, mostly bakuto
involved in the illegal gambling operations.Some
of the others he knew only by sight.

He approached an orange door in the back of the
club.A man in a
black t-shirt, tattooed arms,
stood guard.He
glared as Nakano drew
near.

“I know who you are.He's
busy, but you go up and sit in one of the chairs.Let
him finish before you approach.He
is not
in a good mood.He is drunk again.”

The guard opened the door.

Five unoccupied work stations hugged the length of
the second
floor, nearly all the way to Shige Nishimoto's glass enclosed office,
the door
partially open.Polished
wooden
flooring pointed the way to a chair where Mr. Nakano sat.He watched and listened to what was going
on.

Shige Nishimoto, balding and squat, about Mr.
Nakano's age,
sat
behind an expansive oak desk.Two
women
flanked Nishimoto—one in a short black cocktail dress, the other in a
schoolgirl's pleated plaid skirt and white blouse.Mr. Nakano heard Nishimoto shout at a bowing young man in
a
sharkskin suit, who responded to Nishimoto's berating with an unvarying
hail of
Hai!Hai!A
bloody bandage covered the young man's
left little finger.The
killer, Kiichi
Sugimoto stood behind the young man.The young man offered without lifting his eyes a wrapped
object
no
bigger than a wad of gum, setting the item on Nishimoto's desk with
both hands.The
women looked away.Nishimoto
stared at the offering, then
stared at the young man's damaged hand.The moment hung in the air until Nishimoto nodded, and
spilled
whiskey
into his glass.He
ordered the women to
remove the wrapped offering, which from Mr. Nakano's experience in such
things,
contained the severed last joint of the young man's finger, an act of
appeasement.

The two women and the young man departed.

The killer, Sugimoto, looked directly at Mr. Nakano
and
motioned
as though to a pet dog, for him to enter.

Inside, Nakano bowed slightly and said, “This is an
honor to
me
and my family that you have called for me once again.”

“Yes, yes, we go back even to childhood, you and I.Yes, yes.”He drank some of his whiskey.He
continued in a barking tone, a superior to a subordinate.“But this is today, we are no longer
children!The whole
nation is in
economic trouble!Operations
are not as
rich as they should be!Look
at
me!Before, I drove
a BMW.Now, a stupid little Toyota!”

“In hard times there is nothing perfect when what
you are
doing
stands still and does not grow!Look
at
me!I did not even
have my Kobe beef
last week!”

“I cannot increase a saturated route!Prices
will fall, danger of discovery will rise.My
creation will flounder!”

“Do not raise your voice to me!” Nishimoto barked.Nakano did not realize he
shouted at his own
oyabun.Nishimoto
filled his
glass and gulped.The
killer Sugimoto
and Kenso Nakano focused their eyes on the floor.

Nishimoto snarled and slammed his glass on the desk.“What is the matter with
you!You made a drug business in Alaska.Now
make it grow!If
you can create, then
create more!We
need more money!Use
your so-called talents!We've
done so
much for you!You
took the oath with
us.”

“There is something wrong with my wife,” Nakano
said.“I must get
what the others have.Medical insurance.Or
at least take
care of her operation, 4,000,000 yen.And
I need to set aside much, much more for
my son's college education.”

“What?What
?You are well-paid!You
get your own
insurance.Or just pay for that stupid operation yourself!” Nishimoto
shouted.“And
besides, so what if she dies?Did
we not arrange this marriage?We'll just get you another wife!”He
laughed and slapped the desk.

The words struck like a knife.Get me another wife?She is
Misako!How can
he...Nakano recognized the trace of a smile on
the face of the soldier, Sugimoto. With
a stone face Nakano tried with much difficulty to pay attention as the oyabun
pressed on.

“And your son, Kano.He is
seventeen years old, correct?When
I
was his age I had already started here.So you will do exactly what everyone else does.Bring him in with us now!He can
start low, work his way up like the
rest.College
education.A waste of time and money.I don't
have a college education, and look
at me!I am
successful.And I will continue to be successful.But
I will not be so happy if you keep
begging for money like a common dog.And I will be very unhappy if you do not expand the Alaska
route!”

He needed to say more.He
thought to insert a small, made-up “problem” for Nishimoto to solve.Perhaps, playing to his
ego would calm him,
drunk as he was.The
tactic had worked
with him before.

“Only a small problem with Jeffrey Johnson in Sand
Point,”
Nakano
said.

Nishimoto sat back in his chair, obviously
interested.“Here.You drink some of this whiskey.It is good stuff!”

Mr. Nakano did not drink often, and did not like
whiskey, but
he
took a sip.

“No, no!Drink
it
all!Drink all of
it!” Nishimoto
shouted.

Nakano gulped the whiskey down.He was not pleased with the effect strong drink had upon
him,Nishimoto
refilled the glass.

“This Jeffrey Johnson,” Nishimoto said.“Has
he betrayed us?”

“No.Nothing
like
that.Just that
he's boisterous.Too
noisy for my comfort,” Nakano said.The dismissive attitude of his boss towards
his wife together with the whiskey that burned his insides made it
difficult to
think clearly: He could think only of Misako, rather than focus on what
he
found himself continuing to say and what Nishimoto and Sugimoto heard
and
understood.And
while he talked Nishimoto
again insisted he gulp down another glass of the strong American
whiskey.He told
the two men how Jeffrey
Johnson's
loud voice carried in the night when drug transfers took place.In the small location of
Sand Point, Alaska,
that was not good, very dangerous.Everyone knew everyone else.A
wrong word, speaking too loudly in the night, and someone could cause
trouble
with the Alaska State Troopers.

“But I will talk to him, if that is what you wish,”
Nakano
said,
giving Nishimoto the opportunity to give him a harsh order to correct
this
horrible flaw in the system, untrue as it was.

Mr. Nakano observed how the soldier Kiichi Sugimoto
looked
and
listened as Mr. Nakano threw out a description of Jeffrey Johnson of
Sand
Point.For over an
hour questions from
the drunken Nishimoto continued.How
much shabu – meth – are you bringing to Alaska on
the ships to
Whittier?Seward?Southeast
Alaska?.Why not
double the quantities?Why do you not recruit more distributors?Anchorage
has the biggest population, so why not recruit from
there?Why do you
not get people from
our Los Angeles operations to work for you in Anchorage?They will move to Alaska if I tell them
to.Nishimoto often
returned to the
question ofSand
Point, Alaska, and
Jeffrey Johnson, placing more whiskey on the desk for Mr. Nakano to
drink.Nakano's
tongue loosened and he
became quite
imaginative with his description of how disgusting, even barbaric, this
Jeffrey
Johnson of Sand Point, Alaska had become.Then, at long last, the boss decided something: He decided
he
was tired.

“I am tired now,” Nishimoto said, his words slurred.“You will work on your
route.Just make it grow.Make
us rich.We are on
hard times.But I
am tired now.Tired.You may go now.Go
away and
leave me alone.Go
away.”

Mr. Nakano reeled from the office out into the
rain, where he
vomited on the sidewalk.